Mothers and Sons
by Helen C
Summary: Dawn and Ryan, and their twisted relationship. Also, Theresa and Ryan and their slightly less twisted relationship.
1. Chapter One

**Title** : Mothers and Sons

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary** : Dawn and Ryan, and their twisted relationship. Also, Theresa and Ryan and their slightly less twisted relationship.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN1**. This one was inspired by brandywine421's awesome _breathe out, breathe in._

Many thanks, as always, to the ever awesome joey51.

* * *

**Mothers and Sons**

Helen C.

Chapter One

Sometimes, the rare few times he allowed himself to think about it, Ryan berated himself for not being able to learn the damn lesson. It seemed like it was never going to sink in, like he was never going to stop rushing to the rescue.

No matter how many times he told himself that he wouldn't go help Dawn the next time she called, he still ended up going.

His head kept yelling at him, "No, don't go, nothing good can come out of it!" but his guts didn't listen. He didn't know how to listen to her screams and not try to do something.

Trey had never been able to, either. That's why he left.

Away from home, it had been easier for him to tell Ryan to be smarter and to cut his losses, but Ryan knew the truth. Knew that if Trey had still been around, he would have been doing the same thing Ryan was trying to do.

Even after years away from her, even after she had abandoned him and they hadn't talked to each other in months, Ryan still went.

It wasn't even really a matter of learning the lesson.

It was a matter of not wanting her to pay too high a price for her mistakes.

It was a matter of wanting to take care of his mother.

It was a matter of not wanting to live with the guilt that would certainly eat him alive if she was hurt, or worse, because of his inaction.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan spent a lot of his teenaged years promising himself, or promising Trey, or Theresa, that of course, he'd stop running head first into danger just because Dawn had bad taste in men and couldn't date someone nice to save her life.

Theresa once told him that for someone who asked those around him to keep their word, he was sure quick to forget his own promises. Her tone was bitter that day, but then she had spent the day holding Ryan's head as the after effects of the concussion made him throw up every half hour, so he allowed it.

She wasn't wrong.

He betrayed everyone—including himself—by doing this.

Everyone except Dawn, and that's what no one seemed to get. He was stuck between betraying his friends and betraying Dawn.

Yes, it sucked that Dawn won each and every time, but Ryan always considered it to be the lesser of two evils.

Trey and Theresa weren't in any physical danger.

Dawn was.

Trey and Theresa would forgive him, maybe even understand.

Dawn wouldn't.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan was nineteen the first time he had to promise the Cohens that sure, of course, he wouldn't go see her alone again, not even if she called for help.

He meant it that time, too.

It had been too close a call—and on Christmas, no less. Because, of course, Dawn had to screw up everyone's holidays, not just her own.

Ryan had been enjoying the peace, for once. He was almost happy in Berkeley, he felt more like a student and less like a fraud with each passing day, and coming back to Newport for the holidays was more enjoyable than he would have thought.

If only Seth had been able to pipe down, even a little, things would have been damn near perfect—and yes, how could he have believed for a minute that things would stay this easy? It wasn't like past experience hadn't taught him better, many times over.

It hadn't happened in so long. Maybe that was why he let his guard down. He hadn't heard her cries covered by the shouts of whoever she was fucking in so many years and he had allowed himself to relax.

Until the phone rang as he was standing in the kitchen, trying not to yell at Seth (who was definitely feeling the holiday cheer) and thinking about how good it was to be home. The fact that Newport was now home didn't even surprise him anymore.

He took the call mostly to get a reprieve from Seth's constant chattering.

Later, Ryan would gripe at the irony.

He would have been willing to put up with a lot more of Seth's babble to avoid hearing her mother scream at him, begging him to come, crying over the phone, AJ's infuriated voice in the background.

"Man?" Seth asked when Ryan hung up on a hurried promise to be here as fast as possible.

"I'll be back in time for dinner," Ryan said, making his way out.

Seth tried to follow him, but Ryan mercifully beat him to the car.

Later, he'd thank Whoever the hell was in charge Up There for that small favor.

The one good thing to come out of all this was that at least Seth hadn't been there to witness the tail end of one of AJ's tantrums.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan arrived in Chino just in time to witness the last round of the mostly one-sided fight between Dawn and AJ.

At least he was sticking with the glorious Atwood tradition of having screwy holidays; obviously, not even prolonged exposure to the Cohens was enough to cure him from the habit of getting involved in fights or other illegal activities.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" AJ snapped when Ryan entered.

The reply flew before he could think about it. "Nice to see you too."

The punch _that_ earned him made his ears ring. Damn, but the man had gotten faster in the last three years. What the hell did Dawn see in him anyway? Of all the losers she had fucked over the years, why did she keep coming back to this one?

"You just never learn, do you, kid?" AJ said, his low tone threatening.

Once upon a time, Ryan would have hurried to the door upon hearing that tone, and would have spent the night at Theresa's, at Trey's, or even on a park bench.

Anything to avoid AJ when he was in that kind of mood.

"Whatever," he whispered, looking down, hoping against hope that maybe AJ would ignore him if he looked unthreatening.

That kind of strategic thinking had never made a difference in the past.

It didn't this time either.

Ryan never could remember most of the fight that followed—if one could call it a fight.

He may have been stronger and faster than he had been at sixteen, and yes, he got a few punches in, but it was pitifully inadequate against AJ's fury-fuelled efficiency.

A few flashes remained burned in Ryan's memory.

The look on AJ's face when Ryan spat at him—a mistake that earned him many painful bruises, but so worth it.

Dawn, crying softly in a corner.

AJ kicking him in the legs.

Dawn begging from her corner.

AJ hauling Ryan to his feet, dragging him to the door, pushing him out.

Through the glass door.

Then, at last, blackness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they got the call from the hospital in Chino, Sandy thought that it was almost ironic. When Ryan had first come to live in Newport, Sandy had dreaded getting that kind of call, and had been sure that one day, it would come.

But the days had passed, and it hadn't happened, and of all the scraps Ryan had gotten into during his four years with the Cohens, none was due to a man almost three times his age kicking his ass.

Small mercy perhaps, but Sandy had seen the pictures in Ryan's file, and he had taken out some of them before giving it to Kirsten, because she didn't have to see that.

Under the circumstances, and even if the fallout had been hellish in every possible way, Sandy would have taken even the fight with Trey against ever seeing Ryan injured that way again.

And then, as things had finally settled down and Ryan was making a life for himself in college, this happened, and suddenly, Sandy couldn't help wondering if anything ever made any difference at all.

He would probably never ask Ryan why he had done that, in large part because he suspected the answer and didn't want to hear it confirmed. But he had to wonder if four years with the Cohens had had so little impact on Ryan that he still felt that he had to do things like this on his own.

It wasn't a matter of not knowing any better.

It wasn't a matter of Ryan not being able to control himself.

It was a matter of Ryan refusing to allow Dawn to hit rock bottom if he could help it.

And yes, Dawn's rock bottom would probably be an ugly and scary place, and yes, she would certainly be hurt in the process, but selfishly, Sandy almost didn't care.

All that mattered was that his family, his _son_, was safe.

And he'd never say so to Ryan.

He didn't want to lose the kid, and that kind of thinking would only drive Ryan away from all of them.

"Sandy?" Kirsten asked from where she sat, hunched over on a spectacularly ugly plastic chair.

He turned to her. "Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

He would have loved to laugh at her question, but he didn't. She meant well, but damn it, if a doctor didn't arrive soon with some news, Sandy couldn't be held responsible for what would happen.

Surely, anyone would understand that, right?

Just as he was reaching the point where he was going to start yelling, a doctor entered the room, chart in hand.

Sandy shared a look with Kirsten then went to meet the man, bracing himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three days after his latest encounter with AJ, curled up on a hospital bed, Ryan told Sandy, "I'll never try to help her again."

Part of him was ashamed for going in the first place, and getting his ass kicked yet again.

Being sixteen or nineteen didn't seem to make much of a difference.

In the grand scheme of things, it seemed like Ryan was just destined to be used as a punching bag by AJ, no matter what.

Part of him was bitter at the idea of spending yet another holiday in the hospital.

Part of him was angry at Dawn for calling him in the first place, and then going back with AJ once Ryan had been injured for her—she always went back to them, but fuck, when would she learn?

Right, probably at the same time he did…

Never.

Lots of parts of him were clamoring for attention, all battling each other, and making his head spin.

Mostly, he was angry at himself.

He should have learned to better control his instincts by now.

He should be able to avoid being sent to the hospital.

He had apparently managed to raise his arms when he had gone through the glass door, which had probably saved his eyes.

Parts of his face and his arms were covered with cuts, some deep, some not, some of which would have left scars without Dr. Roberts' intervention.

Seth tried to joke about Ryan's new found taste for plastic surgery.

No one laughed.

The scars would need time to heal and fade, Dr. Roberts said, almost apologetically.

Ryan didn't mind.

Not too much.

At least, he wouldn't spend the rest of his life looking like a freak show. If such a thing had happened three years earlier, he would have had to live with it, and fuck if that didn't make him even angrier.

How many times had AJ almost destroyed his life?

Once upon a time, dying didn't really scare Ryan. What terrified him was the certainty that one day, one of these scumbags would go too far and leave him blind, or render him a vegetable, or stick him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. And if that happened, Ryan knew that his family wouldn't be able to take care of him—with no money and no outside support system, he'd be left in the hands of the government, and probably spend years, if not the rest of his life, in an institution or on the streets.

How many times had Dawn turned a blind eye on the situation?

How many times had Ryan risked serious injury to save her?

Looking at Sandy's worried face, Ryan silently promised himself that he would never put the Cohens through this again.

Kirsten blinked back tears every time she saw him, kept touching him, as if to reassure herself that he was still there.

Sandy looked resigned, as if he had always known that such a thing would happen, as if he had prepared himself for such a time to come.

What was worse, they were both being so damn understanding about Ryan's need to help his mother that it was driving him insane.

He would have preferred yelling. Threats. A stern talking to.

Anything but this compassion, this damn support that they still gave him freely after what he had done.

"I swear, I won't go see her again," Ryan repeated.

It didn't matter if he didn't keep his word to himself, but the Cohens deserved better.

"Okay," Sandy said.

He didn't sound convinced—not that Ryan blamed him.

"I'll call the cops and let them deal with her. But I'm done walking in there and…"

And getting the shit kicked out of him.

And fearing for his life.

And risking spending the rest of his life scarred, or incapacitated.

Sandy smiled sadly, and said, "I know, son."

"I will," Ryan swore—to himself, and to Sandy, who had put so much energy into helping Ryan survive his youth.

"I know."

* * *

TBC 


	2. Chapter Two

**Title** : Mothers and Sons

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary** : Dawn and Ryan, and their twisted relationship. Also, Theresa and Ryan and their slightly less twisted relationship.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN1**. This one was inspired by brandywine421's awesome _breathe out, breathe in._

Many thanks, as always, to the ever awesome joey51.

* * *

Chapter Two

Dawn had always been very good at burning bridges and vanishing.

After what Ryan inwardly referred to as "the glass door incident," he didn't hear from her for four years.

Kirsten and Seth never asked him how he felt about that—they blamed her for what had happened, and Ryan suspected they were scared of what would happen if she ever resurfaced.

Sandy did ask, from time to time, if Ryan wanted him to track Dawn down, if only to make sure she was safe. The offer was genuine, but his look of relief every time Ryan told him not to bother was unmistakable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To say that Ryan surprised the Cohens when he announced, during his second year in Berkeley, that he was planning on going to law school, would have been a ridiculous understatement.

Hell, he even surprised himself.

Seth laughed, for two days, trying to picture Ryan "going Kid Chino" on a judge, trying to picture what a closing argument written by Ryan might be like, asking Sandy if there were awards for brevity in a court room, and generally driving Ryan insane.

It wasn't as if he hadn't struggled with the decision, it wasn't as if he wasn't nervous, and Seth's jokes, no matter how brotherly, good-natured and well-intentioned, were making him even more uncertain.

When the jokes stopped abruptly, without apparent reason, Ryan recognized the hand of The Kirsten in that small miracle, and found yet another reason to be grateful for her.

Kirsten was the first to talk to him about it and he tried to apologize, awkwardly, for letting go of one of the things that had brought them closer at the beginning—the love of architecture.

"Sweetie, you don't have to apologize," she said, predictably. "You have to do what's good for yourself. You know we'll be proud of you no matter what." She smiled. "I guess we're all just a little surprised. We didn't see it coming. And…"

And they were worried he was merely trying to please Sandy by following in his footsteps.

"I'm not…" He fumbled for words. "What I like the most in construction is working with my hands. Seeing the house grow, and know I'm one of the people who made it possible." He tried to put all his conviction in his words, knowing that he needed to convince her. She'd support him either way, but he didn't want her wondering whether he was making a mistake. "I talked to students in architecture, and even to some architects, and…"

"You didn't like what you heard?" she finished for him.

He shrugged sheepishly.

"I understand." To Ryan's relief, there was no doubt in Kirsten's eyes anymore. "I think you'll be a wonderful lawyer."

Ryan released a breath he didn't known he was holding, surprised at how much he still craved her support and acceptance.

Sandy didn't say much at first—Seth even asked if now that Ryan was the talkative one, Sandy was giving up on the spoken word altogether. Kirsten elbowed him just as Ryan was kicking him under the table. Seth took the hint and dropped it.

Sandy waited until he and Ryan had the house to themselves to ask, carefully, "I know Kirsten talked to you."

Ryan gave a tolerant smile. It had been a long time since the Cohens had tag teamed him. "And now it's your turn?" he said.

Sandy chuckled easily, sitting down next to Ryan. "Yup. You know how we are. Always talking."

Ryan nodded in mock assent.

Uncharacteristically, Sandy was the one looking for words this time around. "I just wanted to say… I'm…"

Ryan waited, realizing for the first time that he was tense and wary—afraid that Sandy wouldn't approve, afraid that Sandy would think this was a bad idea. He needed Sandy's support on this, maybe even more than he needed Kirsten's, because in many ways, Sandy was the one who had started all this.

"I'm very proud of you," Sandy said. "I don't say it often enough—"

Ryan couldn't suppress a nervous laugh. "You say it all the time."

Sandy waved his hand dismissively. "Not nearly enough," he repeated. "It means a lot to me that you want to become a lawyer. I know it's your decision, I know you're not trying to do it to please me, but I'm still…"

"Flattered?" Ryan offered when words failed Sandy and he started to rely on hand gestures.

"A little." Sandy shrugged. "What can I say…"

_You've said enough_, Ryan wanted to say. _Thanks. _Instead, he asked, "So, you think this is a good idea?"

Sandy shot him an amused glance. "Seth's jokes getting to you?"

"No!" Ryan gathered his thoughts, trying to find a way to ask the question that was nagging at him—no easy feat as he wasn't so sure himself. "Just… Do you think I'm up to it?"

Sandy put a hand on his shoulder. "I think you can do anything you put your mind to. I think you'll be a great lawyer. The way you always fight for others, the way you always try to help them…"

Ryan recalled a few instances when this need to help others had also meant trouble for him. Maybe Seth was right and he was insane to do this.

On the other hand, he had to admit that it felt right—more right than anything else he had ever considered doing with his life.

"I just have to say something." Ryan met Sandy's eyes, recognizing the serious tone. "It's hard. It would be easier if you were heartless, but I know you, Ryan. If you go into public defense, it'll be hard for you." He frowned. "It's hard for me, and my life wasn't half as difficult as yours. Seeing some of these kids, what they've been through… Sometimes, you can help them and it's great. But when you can't, it's really, really hard. And you, kid… You put your heart in everything you do. I know that."

Ryan nodded.

It wasn't anything he hadn't considered already.

It wasn't enough to make him change his mind.

Sandy smiled, breaking the moment. "I'd be proud too if you wanted to become an architect, you know? Or a doctor, or a pilot, or a stripper, or anything."

Ryan chuckled.

"Don't become a stripper," Sandy said, as an afterthought.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, I know. Okay."

"Kirsten would kill both of us."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In truth, Ryan did strip.

Once.

It was at a party during his third year in College, and he was drunk, so that didn't really count—that was his story and he was sticking to it.

And damn Luke for visiting him and then making him drink so much anyway.

Thankfully, as far as he knew, the pictures (and there were pictures, fuck Luke) never made their way to the Cohens.

Yet another tale of college life he'd never be able to tell his children.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It wasn't long after that fateful night of drinking and stripping that he ran into Theresa again—literally ran into her while stepping out of Starbucks, his coffee lovingly cradled in his hands (he was growing pathetically addicted to the stuff).

He slammed into her, an automatic apology freezing on his lips when he saw her face—surprised and maybe a little happy, reflecting his own feelings.

"Well, well, Ryan Atwood," she said, her voice shaking with restrained laughter.

"Theresa," he breathed out.

They stood awkwardly for a beat then she motioned to the door. "Wanna…"

He thought about the class he was supposed to attend in less than fifteen minutes, took a look at her and shrugged. "Sure."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They didn't speak Marissa's name until two hours and three cups of coffee later.

Theresa brought it up, hesitantly, as if afraid of opening up old wounds.

"I was hoping I'd see you at the funeral," she said. "But you weren't there."

"I kind of lost it for a while." He smiled weakly. "I didn't go. I didn't want to see anyone."

She reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry. I know what you meant to each other, even if I didn't understand it."

Not many people understood. Hell, even Ryan and Marissa themselves didn't understand, not really. They had just been drawn to each other from day one, and kept orbiting around one another right up until that day.

It was all in the past, now, but he still felt an ache when he thought about her.

What would she have become?

Would they have found a way to make it work?

"Did they ever catch him?" Theresa asked. "The guy who…"

"Yeah." Ryan breathed out a small sigh. "Sandy says he'll be released soon, now."

"That can't be easy," Theresa said. Ryan heard the unspoken "Are you going to go after him?" He wished he could be angry at her for that, but if anyone was entitled to ask, then surely she was.

She was too familiar with Ryan's history to be anything but worried.

"We talked. Before they arrested him. We… I guess you could say we settled things."

He was done with Volchok. He was done with that whole part of his life.

As long as Volchok didn't come after him again, he'd let it rest.

She smiled at him, reassured, and he remembered her worry back in Chino, as his behavior grew increasingly violent, and later in Newport, as Volchok was messing with him and he was falling back into old habits.

"You've changed," she said quietly.

He shook his head. "I still have bad days. They're just not as bad as they once were."

"I'm glad," she said.

There was a comfortable pause, then Ryan said, "So, are you ever going to tell me about Daniel?"

He ordered them a fourth cup of coffee while she fished the pictures from her bag.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan stopped by Theresa's place the next day.

Daniel adopted him on the spot, climbing into his arms and refusing to be put down.

"He's sure obstinate," Ryan observed.

Theresa shook her head at her son. "You don't know the half of it."

Holding Daniel, Ryan felt a small pang. It could have been his life, if Theresa had allowed him to stay.

If he hadn't been so damn terrified.

If he hadn't met the Cohens when he had.

He didn't regret how things had turned out, but he did wonder what it would have been like to have this kid calling him "Dad."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Theresa's chuckle awoke Ryan from a deep sleep.

He raised his head and saw that he was flopped on the couch, Daniel sound asleep in his arms.

"Uh?" he said unintelligently.

Theresa shook her head, amused. "Honestly, Ryan. You ran from Turo on a big brotherly rage. You were once a car thief, living on the edge." The laughter in her voice was contagious, despite the bittersweet tang of the memories. "And to look at you right now, one might think that this little kid ran you into the ground."

Ryan smiled. "Yeah, you laugh." He dropped his head back on the cushions. "We went to the zoo, he ran everywhere, he wanted ice cream, he wanted to play with a kid his age who, it turned out, didn't speak a word of English, and then he wanted to eat at McDonalds and…"

She sat down on the seat arm, patted his head like she'd calm a hysterical teenaged girl. "There, there. I know, it's hard keeping up with a kid sixteen years younger than yourself."

Ryan smiled. "Fine. Laugh. I don't care."

"So, did you have a good day?" Theresa asked.

Ryan looked down at Daniel again, taking in the blonde hair, the peaceful face as he slept, and felt his heart clench.

"Yeah. It was…" He swallowed, looked at Theresa. "It was very good. I wouldn't mind doing it again."

She snorted. "You didn't lose him. He seems relatively intact, if a little wiped out. I'd say you didn't do too bad." She nodded to herself. "Yes, you can have him again."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was no big revelation, no dramatic scene, when Ryan learned the truth about Daniel—when he finally allowed himself to see the truth.

They were playing, Theresa was watching them both wistfully, and he took another look at Daniel—his eyes, the way he clenched his fists when he made an argument, the way he looked down abashedly whenever someone scolded him.

He looked at Theresa again. She was studying him, biting her lower lip. "I guess we should talk," she said when their eyes met.

They left Daniel in front of the TV and moved to the kitchen. Theresa looked a lot more nervous than he felt. "I always knew you'd find out eventually. I never even planned to lie, I just…"

Ryan nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "I suspected. I didn't…"

_I didn't want to see it back then._

_My life was approaching something resembling normal for the first time ever, and I was scared to lose that._

_I'm still scared of this, scared of losing everything._

"I know."

"I hate being lied to," he said, because it bore repeating.

"I know."

But she had lied because she loved him and wanted what was best for him.

What was more, he had been more than willing to believe the lie. He hadn't pushed, because she had given him exactly what he wanted—a chance at a normal life.

He would be angry at her for a while, because she had made the decision alone, and he didn't like to be kept in the dark, and because it hurt, having missed such a big part of his son's life.

He'd get over it, because he had always forgiven Theresa for everything and because he had been an almost-willing participant.

Besides, at least, her heart had been in the right place.

"What now?" he asked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

What surprised the Cohens the most wasn't the news that Ryan had a kid. Kirsten, after all, had seen Daniel, and probably hadn't believed Theresa back then.

What surprised them the most was that Ryan didn't decide to drop out of college to pay for his son, and didn't say he was going to ask Theresa to marry him, or that he was going to adopt Daniel.

He could tell they expected him to.

And with reason.

He had considered it—for about three seconds.

Then, Theresa had glared at him and said, "Don't even think about it, Atwood. I don't need to be saved." Hands on her hips, she had stared him down. "And I can still kick your ass."

He knew better than to argue with Theresa when she glared.

So, when Sandy asked "What now?" almost fearfully, clearly bracing himself for an uphill battle, Ryan got to stun him again.

"Now, I finish college, and find a job. And, you know, spend time with my son."

His voice caught a little on "son," and Sandy smiled.

"Still haven't gotten used to saying it out loud?"

Ryan shook his head, fighting a stunned smile.

"Trust me, and you know I love you and Seth more than life, but by the time he's sixteen, you'll be more than used to it; it'll have grown old already." Sandy paused and added, "Except for all the times when it still leaves you astonished."

Ryan's smile brightened.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Theresa used to be scared of me," Ryan said.

Kirsten set her kitchen book to the side and studied him for a while. He looked lost, overwhelmed and as happy as she had ever seen him, all at once.

She wondered if it had sunk in yet, or if he was still adjusting.

"She said she couldn't deal with my bad days." He swallowed. "And I know sometimes, you and Sandy get worried too."

She smiled sadly. "We're less worried these days."

"I haven't had a good reason to lose it in a long time," he pointed out. "Who knows what will happen when I do?"

She resisted the urge to take him in her arms. He needed words more than physical comfort right now.

"You'll be a wonderful father, Ryan." He looked up, surprised. She hoped she was finding the right words to convince him. "Not in spite of your past, but because of it." She pulled him close to her. "I believe in you. So does Sandy. Trust me."

"I do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On graduation day, the Cohens stood and clapped hard, beaming at Ryan, taking pictures, their obvious pride making him blush.

Theresa held Daniel's hand and pointed at him, and he could see him mouth, "Daddy." Ryan had to blink back tears as he made his way back to his seat.

For a second, he even thought he had caught a glimpse of Dawn, but it happened too quickly to be sure.

It was only a couple of days later, when he got her note, that he knew he hadn't been mistaken.

_"I'm proud of you. _

_Mom."_

Dawn had always been concise when it came to pride and joy.

Ryan kept the note safely tucked away, holding it as proof that sometimes, things with Dawn could be good too.

* * *

TBC... 


	3. Chapter Three

**Title** : Mothers and Sons

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary** : Dawn and Ryan, and their twisted relationship. Also, Theresa and Ryan and their slightly less twisted relationship.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN1**. This one was inspired by brandywine421's awesome _breathe out, breathe in._

Many thanks, as always, to the ever awesome joey51.

* * *

Chapter Three

Seth never really stopped joking about Ryan's lack of verbal skill and how it would have an impact on his future career as a lawyer.

"Don't forget, if you want to win, you need to _win_ them over, not glare at them."

"Er, Ryan, remember that you can't actually punch the opposite counsel."

Most times, the jokes amused Ryan.

He had to admit that becoming a lawyer was kind of a stretch for him—"You're one of the bad guys now, then," Trey told him when he learned about Ryan's decision. Ryan remembered all too clearly what he had once thought about lawyer—stupid, condescending assholes who never managed to keep his brother out of jail.

He might have been hurt at Seth and Trey's lack of tact (and apparent lack of support) but every once in a while, they stopped making bad jokes. These times, Ryan was reminded yet again that it was good to have a family that believed in him, even if that family was driving him mad a good ninety percent of the time.

"Can I call you if I ever need a good lawyer?" Trey once asked. Ryan could hear the unspoken awe in his brother's voice, and he could guess where it came from—one of them was actually managing to survive, and become something other than a long-term jailbird/on-the-run felon.

"How do you know I'll be a good lawyer?"

"Come on, bro, it's you. Of course, you'll be good."

Even after everything that had happened between them, knowing that his brother believed in him was still worth a lot—but maybe not as much as Seth, walking up to him one evening, subdued and almost sheepish.

"Summer heard me make a…" he trailed off.

"Tasteless crack? Bad pun about lawyers with laryngitis? Stupid joke?" Ryan supplied. Summer had grown softer since high school, but she could still kick Seth's ass on a regular basis, and didn't hesitate to do so when she thought it was warranted.

Actually, Ryan had always had a healthy respect for her, and avoided incurring her wrath as a matter of course.

Theresa was keeping him in check well enough ("You're so whipped," Seth kept saying. "You're one to talk," Ryan usually replied. And they both complained about the woes of the twenty-first century males, just as long as their respective girlfriends weren't around to hear them). He didn't want Summer on his case as well.

"Yeah, that," Seth said. "And she pointed out to me that maybe, all these jokes may make you believe that I…" He groaned. "Man, I can't do this. I mean, we're friends, but…"

Ryan nodded in agreement. "Not so much with the whole talking about our feelings thing?"

Seth snapped his fingers in Ryan's direction, head bobbing up and down in agreement. "Totally. And you know that if I ever need someone to get me out of jail, you'll be my first call, right? No question about that."

"Your dad's a lawyer too," Ryan pointed out, amused. Only Seth would go through that kind of mental gymnastic to avoid saying, "I'm sorry."

Sometimes, it was endearing. Other times, it was damn infuriating.

Like Seth himself, really. He could be the best friend Ryan could hope for or an oblivious asshole, and sometimes both at the same time. It was Seth, so most people ignored it or accepted it.

Ryan usually didn't regret letting these things go.

When Seth decided he had Ryan's back, it made all the bad times worthwhile.

"Dude," Seth wheedled, "if I end up in jail, it'll be embarrassing, and I ain't telling my dad about it." He mock-shuddered. "No, it'll be one for team Seth/Ryan." He sounded uncertain all of a sudden. "That is, if you don't mind saving a sorry graphic novel artist's ass."

Ryan smiled. "Sure thing. But Seth?"

Seth raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing that he should go on. Ryan wondered if his friend had already noticed that his eyebrows had shown a tendency to thicken recently. Since there hadn't been a panicked phone call at three in the morning yet, he supposed not.

"If you want me to do a good job with your future, hypothetically embarrassing case, I strongly suggest you throw away these sketches of Kid Chino with the tights, and nothing else."

Seth gave him a thumb up. He almost looked serious. "Absolutely."

Ryan didn't believe him for a second.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It turned out that Seth had been wrong.

Ryan didn't need to convince much of anyone, at least at first. The first four cases he handled were settled outside the courtroom. The fifth case ended in front of a sixty-five-year-old judge—a veteran who had heard too many dragging arguments between lawyers and didn't put up with nonsense anymore.

Ryan, who had always had the ability to destroy the most well-constructed arguments with a single word, did what he did best; he allowed the plaintiff's lawyer to talk, gesturing broadly and getting lost in details, and when his turn came, he got to his feet, calmly used facts to counteract everything that had been said, and won the case.

"Not bad for your first time in court," his assistant said, handing him his next file.

"It wasn't my first time in court, technically," he retorted.

She shook her head disapprovingly, reminding him of Theresa. "You know what I mean."

He did. "Thanks."

"Now, get to work on the next one," she ordered, ushering him to his office.

Why every woman he knew, from Theresa to this tiny, perky young girl, kept bossing him around was a mystery.

Ryan wisely chose to comply.

He really didn't want to get on the bad side of any of the women he knew.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It wasn't long after that case that Ryan eventually found the courage to ask Sandy, "Are you disappointed in me?"

They were grilling food on the patio, enjoying the sun while Kirsten and Theresa cooed over Daniel, and Seth tried to contain Summer's hysteria about the latest adventures of Miss Vixen.

He had been wanting to ask for a long while now what Sandy thought about his decision to go work for a private firm—with his own office, and the possibility to make a lot of money really fast, assuming he could make an impression.

Ryan felt like a novice swimmer thrown in an ocean filled with sharks—and the fact that these were lawyers made the image more than a little cliché, but it was still apt.

He was thoroughly out of his element, and to his own surprise, he was enjoying every minute of it. It felt good to step up to a challenge, it felt good to discover what he was capable of now that he was out of college, and trying to jumpstart his career.

He hated how self-involved it made him sound, even to himself, but he couldn't deny it—especially not to himself.

"Disappointed?" Sandy asked. Ryan tried to read his tone of voice, but Sandy had too much practice hiding his disappointments from him.

He shrugged. "Well, I remember it… surprised me when you went for private practice, back when I first came to live here. And, well…" He gave Sandy a rueful smile. "Now you're back to helping kids, and I'm, you know…"

"Working in private practice," Sandy finished for him. He turned the steaks on the grill, smiling softly. "I guess I'm just… surprised, as well."

Ryan snorted, fingering the label on his beer bottle. "Yeah, well…"

Sandy turned to face him. "Why did you accept the job, if I may ask?"

Ryan shrugged. "Well, I need to start somewhere."

Sandy nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"I'll get to public defendant work eventually," Ryan went on. Because enjoying a challenge was all well and good, but the day he turned into another workaholic careerist was the day someone would have to shoot him and put him out of his misery. "I guess I just want to do a good job when I get there, and I need to learn the ropes somewhere."

Sandy looked on, surprised. "You could learn the ropes and still do that job, kid."

Ryan shook his head, eyes drifting to the sea. "Probably. But… Well, I'll probably never plead a case in front of a jury, because let's face it, I'd lose, but I need to at least be able to convince judges, you know. If I'm to help these kids… I've been where some of them are, Sandy. And if I had gotten a crappy lawyer, like Trey sometimes did, I know what I'd be condemning them to."

Sandy shot a look at the meat grilling, making sure it wasn't burning, then came to sit next to Ryan. "You'll lose cases sometimes, Ryan. And frankly? Same cases, you _should_ lose."

Ryan nodded. He knew how dangerous some of the kids in Juvie were, knew they couldn't be allowed to roam the streets either. His heart went to them too, because he could only guess what had driven them to that point, and what he guessed hurt.

"I know," he said. "But there are also kids there that are…"

"Like you," Sandy added. "Yes. Yes, there are."

_Did you ever meet another one like me, Sandy? Why am I the only one you ever brought home? It's not trust in the system, I know that. You don't really believe in the wisdom of Social Services._

_Why not another?_

_Why not several others?_

_Why me?_

_Do you think I'll ever be able to make that kind of leap of faith, if I meet someone who needs my help?_

_Do you think I can make a difference, too?_

Sandy clasped Ryan's shoulder. "You'll get it, kid. And unfortunately, there'll still be kids needing help when you're ready."

A cold fact if there ever was one.

There would always be kids without hope who took out their anger on the world.

Ryan knew he wouldn't be a Sandy to most of them, nor should he even try.

He also knew that it wouldn't stop him from trying to help these kids as much as he could.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The phone rang in the middle of the night, startling him.

Theresa groaned and rolled over. "Let the answering machine take it," she said.

Ryan hummed in agreement and buried deeper under the covers.

Seth's voice surprised Ryan. His friend was obviously drunk, and he could hear Summer's laughter in the background.

"Dude! I think my eyebrows are evolving. I think they're becoming something else."

Seth breathed heavily into the phone for a while. Ryan could feel Theresa's eyes on him, could hear her holding her breath.

"Ryan. I need help, man. I think they're turning into the Eyebrows of Death. It's not funny. It's scary. Dude? Ryan?"

Ryan and Theresa laughed so hard that they woke up Daniel.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It shouldn't have surprised him, considering how good he felt and how normal life was, that Dawn called him shortly after Seth's epiphany, after several years of silence.

She was crying, asking for his help.

Could he please come?

She needed her baby to come for her.

There was a man yelling in the background.

It wasn't AJ.

Ryan unconsciously traced the scar that ran along his hairline, the only scar Dr. Roberts hadn't been able to do anything about. "It's just too deep, I'm sorry," he had said.

It was mostly hidden by his hair, but Ryan could never forget that it was there—like he had never forgotten all the other scars that once marred his face; scars on his cheeks, on his nose, on his chin.

"Baby, please…"

He heard his own voice reply, in a detached tone, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hung up, sank into his chair and took several deep breaths, waiting for the light-headedness to pass. When his brain kicked back into gear and started complaining loudly about Ryan's gut making decisions without its approval, he searched his wallet for the card Sandy had given him after his encounter with a glass door.

Ryan had promised then not to rush headlong into this kind of situations anymore but everyone (Ryan included) had known better than to believe it.

Dawn would get into trouble again.

Ryan would try to help her, because that was his nature.

So, Sandy had given Ryan the card of a friend of his. "He's a PI. He's worked a lot in protection. Call him if she calls you."

Ryan had tried to protest, but Sandy hadn't listened. "Tell him about the whole situation or don't, but please, Ryan, at least call him if you need to go see Dawn."

"A bodyguard, Sandy?" Ryan had said, giving a wry smile. _You think I need a bodyguard to see my own mother?_

"Ryan, I get that the situation is complicated, but it can't hurt taking some precautions."

Ryan could have argued but the Cohens had more than earned the right to forbid him to see his family. They had never done it, had never even tried to use his lingering feelings of guilt and inadequacy against him.

All they had ever asked of him was that he remained safe; he could give them that.

He wasn't going to put the Cohens through another night at the hospital, waiting for him to wake up.

With fingers he willed to be steady, he punched in the numbers.

"Chris Sanders, private investigations," a man answered.

"Hi. I'm… Hm, Ryan Atwood," Ryan started hesitantly. He didn't have time to start explaining who he was.

"Sandy's kid, right," the man interrupted. "He once said you might call. Need some company to go somewhere?"

Ryan spared a thought to wonder exactly what Sandy had told the guy, and for how long he had waited for that kind of call, then dismissed it.

"Yeah." He quickly gave Chris the address and hung up, heart beating.

Ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ryan grabbed his keys and hurried out of his apartment, fighting down the bad taste of deja-vu.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The back-up proved to be necessary (and thankfully efficient).

Chris, it turned out, had a commanding presence and wasn't shy about using it.

Dawn's boyfriend, unsurprisingly, was huge—several inches taller than Ryan, and probably ten to fifteen pounds heavier as well.

Why did Dawn keep dragging these giants home anyway?

Did they really make her feel safer? From Dawn's hiccups and tears upon seeing him, he didn't think so.

"Brought your boyfriend with you, punk?" the man asked when he saw Chris stand at Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He looked at Dawn and tried not to show his reaction to seeing her in such a state. She must have been at least twenty pounds underweight, her hair was matted to her face, she was covered in bruises, and, Ryan noticed with a sinking stomach, track marks on her arms. "So, come with us or don't, but hurry up," he said. Maybe anger and coldness would shock her into complying.

She took a hesitant step towards him.

"Who the hell do you think makes the decisions here?" the boyfriend snarled. "A little respect here, son."

Ryan gave him his coldest look. "I'm not your son."

The boyfriend raised his beer bottle as if to throw it at Ryan, who didn't move an inch. Dawn had frozen and was staring at the scene the way she'd look at a tennis match.

Chris took a step forward, said, "Mrs. Atwood, I suggest you follow us quickly."

She swallowed but got moving again, and Ryan heaved a discreet sigh of relief.

At least, she was willing to follow the man giving orders, if she wasn't willing to listen to her own son.

"As for you," Chris added, levelling a glare at the boyfriend, "if you don't let go of that beer bottle, I know some people in the police department, and from your general attitude, I'm sure they'd just love to hold you for the night on general principle." He smiled coldly. "Is that sugar on the table?"

The man grimaced but got the point, and released his hold on the bottle.

Ryan herded Dawn to the door, Chris following them closely. His eyes never left the boyfriend, who was yelling that Dawn wasn't to come back after this.

Ryan didn't see how anyone would want to go back to that man, but he assumed Dawn would see things differently, once she sobered up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He didn't get a chance to see if he had been right or not.

Chris dropped them off at Ryan's place, Ryan told Dawn to take a shower while he was taking a short trip to the nearest grocery for supplies and when he came back, she was gone already.

There was a note on the kitchen counter.

Ryan didn't bother reading it.

* * *

TBC 


	4. Chapter Four

**Title** : Mothers and Sons

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary** : Dawn and Ryan, and their twisted relationship. Also, Theresa and Ryan and their slightly less twisted relationship.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN1**. This one was inspired by brandywine421's awesome _breathe out, breathe in._

Many thanks, as always, to the ever awesome joey51.

* * *

Chapter Four

Ryan hadn't stopped shaking since he had found Dawn's note.

He was still trying to control his trembling hands when he knocked on Theresa's door. For a reason he couldn't quite recall, he had the feeling he shouldn't be doing this. It was only when Theresa opened with a frown, probably already ready to scold whoever was coming this late, that he recalled.

He had a key to her place. He didn't need to knock anymore, just like she had free entrance to his place.

Theresa gave him a wary smile, obviously sensing that something was wrong.

Of course, she did.

How many times had they gone through this?

"Ryan?"

He nodded jerkily. "Hi. Sorry, I… I didn't wake Daniel, did I?"

"I don't think so. He was beat." She stepped back to allow him entrance, closed the door behind them, and took his hand to guide him to the bedroom. He lay on the bed without even taking off his jacket and she curled up next to him.

For a minute, it was almost like they were fifteen again, and Ryan had had a run in with one of Dawn's scumbags.

Funny how that part of his life hadn't changed with the years.

"What happened?" she asked eventually.

"Dawn called."

His voice was flat in the dark room. He shuddered when Theresa softly brushed his hair from his forehead, her fingers tracing the scar.

Ryan added, "I brought her home."

Theresa knew Dawn well enough to guess what had happened. "She left, didn't she?"

He nodded silently.

She put her head on his shoulder, moving a little closer to him. "Was she with someone, when she called?"

He could tell that Theresa was trying to keep her voice neutral. She was failing. The undercurrent of worry and anger came through loud and clear.

He almost laughed at the question. Would Dawn have called him if she hadn't been with someone? "Yes."

"Are you—?"

"Sandy gave me a card, a few years ago. Someone to call if she asked for my help again. A PI." He tried to smile. Fuck, it _was_ funny, even though it wasn't. "Bodyguard."

She didn't smile back. "Good."

Remembering Dawn's boyfriend's size, Ryan nodded, throat dry. "Yes. Yes, it's probably a good thing he was there."

It kind of hurt that after all these years, now that he was a man, he still needed help against Dawn's way of life.

Back when he was fifteen, he would have thought that by this time he'd be either dead, in jail, or too far from Dawn for her to hurt him. He thought he'd either be killed, or get a high school diploma and leave, or wouldn't finish high school and leave anyway.

His plans for the future then, modest as they may have been, hadn't featured a new family, college, and the possibility of doing something worthwhile with his life.

They certainly hadn't featured going through that same shit over and over again, by his own choice.

"I never really fought them back," he heard himself say. "I hit back sometimes, but I never… I could have hurt some of them if I had tried. I didn't."

Her hand started tracing circles on his stomach and he shuddered at the touch. "Why?"

"Because I had to keep living there," he said, his voice hoarse. "I wanted to finish high school, so I had to live with her, and living with her meant living with them. If I had fought too hard…"

He didn't finish the thought.

She got it.

"I've always been scared." She leaned on an elbow, whispering close to him. "Turo and me, and Eddie, and God, Trey… we were always scared that one day, one of them would hit too hard, and really hurt you. And that there would be no one to help you."

He swallowed thickly, thinking back about these days when going back home always caused a hard ball of fear to form in the pit of his stomach. The fear had been pretty constant once AJ had moved in—AJ was one of the men Ryan couldn't have defended himself against even if he had tried.

"Trey kept saying that if you had any sense, you'd just follow him, live with him, instead of staying with her."

"I considered it," he admitted. "But…"

With Trey around, Ryan would have dropped out of school eventually—Trey wouldn't have understood Ryan trying to do his homework, or reading for fun, and sooner or later, he'd have started to pressure him, would have started insisting that all this work would be for nothing. And Ryan would have believed him, after a while.

Fuck, even away from Trey, he had already started to believe it. Another year, and the Cohens would probably have found a lost cause instead of a kid still capable of bringing himself to believe.

Trey had always had a rough life, maybe even rougher than Ryan's, and Ryan had always had a hard time remaining optimistic watching Trey, even from a distance. If he was going to end up living the same kind of life as his brother, what would have been the point of studying to get a diploma?

"I didn't want to end up like him," he said, ashamed. His brother had saved his life, spared him more than a few beatings, and he loved him, but one of his greatest fears had always been ending up like Trey.

"I know." Theresa kissed him softly. "That's one of the things I've always admired about you. How you could keep fighting."

"I was ready to give up."

"I know that too." She settled her head on his shoulder. "And I would have had to kick your ass, bad."

She would have too. Theresa had always been one of the few people he believed when she said he could do better, when she said his destiny wasn't to end up another screw-up.

"Thanks," he said, because her support had made a difference too.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Seth had stopped making jokes about Ryan the lawyer.

It had taken him years, but he had finally replaced them with a new material.

"When are you going to make Theresa an honest woman, man?"

As if Seth had any leg to stand on, on this matter.

"Seriously, you two, marriage, no go?"

Sometimes, Ryan wondered if banging his head against a wall would be more or less frustrating than listening to Seth's rambles.

"Come on, The Kirsten wants to plan a wedding. And frankly, I'd rather she'd plan yours than mine."

Ryan usually fell back on old tactics—ignore Seth, shoot a sarcastic comment his way, reply with a crack about the fact that he and Summer weren't exactly ready to commit after all this time either.

When all else failed, he got more inventive—push Seth in the pool, get him drunk enough that he turned incoherent, or even punch his arm, hard. As long as Seth was complaining about Ryan's violent tendencies, he wasn't trying to rule Ryan's private life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan and Theresa had been kind-of-involved for three years when Ryan fell in love with her all over again. Until then, their relationship had mostly been a deep friendship with numerous benefits. They were comfortable around each other, the sex had always been good despite (or thanks to) their history.

Neither of them talked about it as being in love.

Neither of them was actively seeking anyone else to date either.

They just accepted the status quo, and the reason it lasted so long was probably because they didn't question it.

And then, one night, at a function in Newport, he saw her standing in her evening dress, smiling politely to a Newpsie who was undoubtedly making it clear that people from chino didn't belong in this world, and _it_ happened.

A revelation.

An epiphany.

A fucking moment of clarity.

Two days later, Ryan was dragging Seth along on a quest to find a wedding ring; Seth's attempts at humor about a 'precious' thwarted before they even left their parking spot.

"Dude, I've never seen you in such a state," Seth said, slightly awed. He had been thinking of proposing to Summer for months now, and was procrastinating, fearing she'd refuse.

"What state?" Ryan asked distractedly, thinking that all these rings were too elaborate, and not Theresa at all.

"You're looking at jewelry, and not brooding about it."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "I don't actually spend my life brooding, Seth."

"You used to."

Ryan shrugged and went back to studying the rings in front of him.

"I guess it makes sense," Seth went on. "You and Theresa, I mean… you've always been…"

Ryan tuned him out. He didn't need Seth to analyze his relationship with Theresa.

She knew him better than anyone else.

They had been friends, lovers, and sometimes both at the same time.

They had made a baby together.

They had spent a terrifying, endless summer trying to be adults when they weren't ready.

They had been each other's firsts.

He couldn't imagine his life without her anymore.

His eyes fell on a platinum ring and he called the seller. "How much for this one?"

Seth spluttered at the price but Ryan didn't hesitate. "I'll take it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kirsten and Seth put a lot of effort into trying to make Ryan and Theresa's wedding a grand feast.

Ryan and Theresa resisted all their efforts in that sense.

"You'll get the chance whenever Seth works up the nerve to propose to Summer," Ryan eventually told Kirsten. His tone was a little sharper than necessary, but he had heard her arguments ten times already, and he was growing tired of it. "We want a small ceremony, and a small party afterwards, with our family. I don't want Newpsies milling around. They can't stand me, I can't stand them, and this is supposed to be our day."

"Listen to him, honey," Sandy threw in from his seat on the couch. "If this is what they want, then that's what they should have."

"But, still, a wedding is supposed to be—"

"A wedding isn't _supposed_ to be anything," Ryan cut her off. "Kirsten, either you agree to the small party, or I promise, I take her to Vegas and we…"

"Elope?" Sandy asked, laughter in his voice.

"If you must put it that way."

Kirsten raised her hands in surrender, clearly unhappy. "If this is really what you want…"

Sandy shot Ryan a reassuring look. "Don't worry, kid. She's a mother; it's in her nature to want to throw big parties for her kids."

Ryan smiled, exhausted. "I know. But I don't want that. I want people I love around me, not people who can barely look me in the eye because they think I'm not good enough for this place."

Being a successful lawyer hadn't put a stop to all the whispers about how he had taken advantage of the Cohen's hospitality. Nothing would ever stop that—after all, some of them still looked down on Sandy.

Sandy chuckled. "Well, you'll get your revenge. I'm sure they'll be pissed to miss an occasion to drink and eat for free."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan hadn't heard from Dawn since their last meeting, over a year ago.

He wondered about her sometimes—was she taking care of herself? Was she even still alive? Would anyone know to call him if she had problems? He knew Chris was keeping his ears open in case she got into serious trouble, but Dawn, like many other addicts, was too good at slipping off the radar.

Maybe they would never hear anything about her whereabouts.

Maybe he'd never hear from her ever again—and as much as Ryan dreaded getting a panicked phone call from her, he feared the former even more.

Somehow, despite the years of silence, he wasn't surprised when someone rang the bell at his apartment on the day of the wedding, and he opened the door to find Dawn standing there nervously, wringing her hands together.

"I'm sorry, I should have called," she said, her words hurried, breathless. "I just… I heard from some friends that you and Theresa were getting married, and…"

She trailed off, unsure of what kind of welcome she was going to get.

She was sober, Ryan could tell. Had she stopped a long time ago or the previous night, he couldn't tell.

"Mom," he started. And stopped, surprised to find that he wanted her there despite his resentment.

_You left again._

_You didn't call, didn't let me know if you were all right._

_You didn't do anything._

_Did you even try to check on me from time to time, or did you just learn about today by chance?_

"I won't embarrass you," she pleaded. "I promise."

It wouldn't be the first time Dawn made promises she didn't intend to keep.

It wouldn't be the first time Ryan gave her a chance anyway.

He stepped back, gesturing for her to come in. She took in the silent place. "Is Theresa here?"

He shook his head. "She's at the Cohens, getting ready. I was asked to spend time elsewhere until everything was ready."

Sandy and Seth were probably on their way now, ready to offer both teasing and support.

Dawn looked at him, smoothed the collar of his shirt. When he met her gaze, he was surprised to see she had tears in her eyes—and for once, they weren't tears of pain. "God, I can't believe how tall you've become," she said. She let her hand linger on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Great." He swallowed nervously. "I'm great." _Well, I'm about to ditch my job for a job as a public defender, and I'm terrified of screwing up, and I haven't told anyone yet. And I'm about to get married, and I have a son, and he's great, and I'm terrified of screwing that up too, because let's face it, the other men of the family? Not exactly family men, Ma…_

Surprising him, she hugged him, holding him close. "I'm so proud of you, kid." He could hear the awe in her voice, and was reminded of how he felt every time his eyes fell on Daniel and he thought, "He's my son."

It was times like these that he understood Sandy and Kirsten a little better—and felt even worse about everything he had put them through, willingly or not.

He had never really thought that Dawn felt that way about him, though.

Dawn went on, as if talking to herself. "You're doing so well, and I know I can't take credit for any of it, but I'm so glad at least one of us has a good life."

He clung to her, savoring the moment while it lasted.

* * *

TBC 


	5. Chapter Five

**Title** : Mothers and Sons

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary** : Dawn and Ryan, and their twisted relationship. Also, Theresa and Ryan and their slightly less twisted relationship.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN1**. This one was inspired by brandywine421's awesome _breathe out, breathe in._

Many thanks, as always, to the ever awesome joey51.

* * *

Chapter Five

Dawn didn't stay long after the wedding.

Dawn never stayed long.

She kept her promise, though—she remained sober the whole day, she didn't make a scene, she talked with the Cohens and Theresa, and she even played with Daniel, and held him close when he started to get tired and grumpy.

Seeing her holding her grandson made Ryan realize how lonely her life must be, how disconnected she must feel from the rest of the family. Hell, Trey had never even seen Daniel, and hadn't called Ryan in ages—Chris, Sandy's PI friend, said that Trey seemed to have dropped off the face of earth. As for Ryan's father, no one had heard from him since his too-short visit in Newport, the year after Marissa's death. Ryan refused to feel disappointed.

All the Atwoods were distant from one another, all of them had good reasons for it, and maybe that was one of the reasons why Ryan never refused to keep an eye on Dawn. She was the only one he was still in semi-regular contact with, the only remaining link to his first family.

"It's incredible how much he looks like you at that age," Dawn whispered to Ryan before leaving.

"I know." Ryan just hoped his son had inherited his mother's character. The kid didn't need Ryan's tendency to settle things with violence. "You could come see him from time to time, you know," he offered. "If you want."

Dawn seemed taken aback for a moment, then nodded. "I'll try. Okay. I'd like that."

Ryan heard what she didn't say—"I'll try to hold it together enough for that, but I'm not sure I can."

He wasn't sure she could either, and he'd never allow her anywhere near Daniel if she wasn't sober, or without supervision, but he felt he should offer what little he could.

Maybe a grandson would give her another reason to get her life back together.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Dawn called Ryan, four months later, she wasn't crying.

She sounded terrified and her whispers sent shivers running down Ryan's spine, but she wasn't babbling incoherently the way she usually did when she called for help.

He took that as a good sign.

Ryan promised her he would come, promised Theresa that he would wait for Chris before going in, promised himself that he wouldn't be disappointed by Dawn's inability to be part of his life for more than a day without a crisis, and hurried to Chino.

He called Chris on the way, but the man never picked up his phone.

Ryan waited anxiously in the car for about ten, minutes, pondering what to do next.

He had left a message for Chris and he didn't doubt that he would join the party as soon as he was able, but did Ryan have the time to wait—or rather, could Dawn afford to wait?

Ryan was seriously considering calling Sandy for backup when he heard a crash from inside the house.

He was twenty-five, he reasoned. He was an adult and he knew how to fight. He stood more of a chance than he had as a lost sixteen-year-old kid.

He'd try to get Dawn out, and if it didn't work, he'd step back and wait for Chris.

Maybe buying some time would be enough to avoid a tragedy.

His decision made, he stepped out of the car and headed to the house, ignoring the gut feeling that said he was going to regret this, and that he was definitely going to make Theresa mad.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dawn's boyfriend didn't put up too much of a fight. He screamed at Ryan and at Dawn, then he threw a beer can at Ryan, but he was so wasted that his aim was totally off and the can missed its target by several feet.

He didn't try to stop Dawn when she followed Ryan.

He didn't even really try to hit Ryan.

He just stood there, glaring and insulting, while the two Atwoods made their way to the door.

"Maybe I should go back," Dawn said hesitantly once they neared the car. "He seemed to have calmed down."

_Why the hell did you call if you didn't plan on making good on your escape, Mom?_ Ryan wondered acidly.

"Come on, Ma," he said. "You can always come back later if that's what you want, but let him get sober first, okay?" _Do it for me if you won't do it for yourself._

He was so busy coaxing her into the car that he didn't notice the boyfriend of the day sneaking up behind him.

He saw something from the corner of his eye and spun, too late to avoid the blow to the head.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He woke up fifteen hours later, with a pounding headache that made him spend several minutes incoherently begging for someone to shut off the lights.

He felt a burning up his arm, and when he finally felt like he could breathe again, the pain finally tuned down to a manageable level, he risked opening his eyes again.

A grim looking man was standing next to him, frowning. "Better?" he asked.

"Yeah." His voice was scratchy and it kind of hurt talking.

What the hell had happened to him?

"Good."

Without allowing Ryan to ask what he was doing here and where his family was, the man launched in a series of questions—"What's your name?" "Your birth date?" "Who's the President?" "Ten plus two minus six?"—that made Ryan wish he hadn't opened his eyes in the first place.

At some point during the exam, between, "What's your mother's maiden name?" and "Do you remember what you last ate?", it came back to him.

Dawn.

Dawn had called, and Chris hadn't been around, and he had gone alone, and fuck, the Cohens were going to be pissed and, even worse, worried.

"Well, you're going to have one hell of a headache for a while," the doctor said. "It's a hairline fracture of the skull. And you have three broken ribs." Ryan wondered when he had gotten those. He didn't remember taking any hits, aside from the one to the head.

The doctor took a breath, before adding, "But, at least, you don't seem to have scrambled your brain too badly."

Ryan didn't have anything to say to that. After a short while, the doctor stopped waiting for a reaction and gestured to the door. "Assuming there are no more complications, you should be released in about a week. In the meantime, your family's here to see you."

Ryan tried to brace himself in the few seconds before the doctor's departure and the Cohens' and Theresa's arrival.

As soon as he saw them, faces drawn with worry, he looked down. "Sorry."

No one acknowledged the apology.

"How are you?" Theresa asked. He couldn't decide whether she looked more angry than worried or the other way around.

"Tired," Ryan replied. "My head still hurts."

She smiled bitterly. "I'm sure it does. You woke up once before. Five hours ago. You were screaming."

Ryan muttered, weakly, "I don't remember."

"No, I don't supposed you do." She looked about to cry all of a sudden. "Don't ever do that again."

"Theresa," he said, trying to sit up, to reach out to her.

It proved to be a bad idea.

The wave of dizziness hit without warning, and Ryan felt hands pushing him down, heard a panicked call for help, and a whispered, distant, "It's okay."

There was a choked laugh somewhere above him. "Of course, it's okay. Fuck, Ryan."

A nurse entered the room and held a basin in front of Ryan, just as he lost the battle with his stomach. Being sick with broken ribs was an experience he hadn't tried before and given how much it hurt, he hoped he would never have to again.

When the nausea finally settled, the nurse gently said, "Avoid moving."

"Yeah, I think he got the message," Seth said sarcastically.

Ryan allowed the nurse to help him lay back down and closed his eyes, exhausted. "Sorry," he said again.

Theresa walked over and took his hand in hers. "Just sleep," she said. "We'll talk later."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan spent the next two days alternately apologizing and trying to reassure everyone that he was fine—if embarrassed and guilty.

Kirsten almost cried when she told him about the phone call late in the night, announcing that he was in the hospital and they needed to come. "These phone calls don't get any easier," she said weakly.

How many of those had there been since he had come to live with them? Too many. He didn't even want to imagine going through that with Daniel.

Apologizing didn't really fix anything, but he tried anyway.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandy and Chris came to visit him together. They both looked beat, in their wrinkled suits and matching somber expressions.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it there in time," Chris said.

Ryan wanted to protest that he didn't need a damn babysitter, but obviously, he did.

"I was on the road when I got your message, and I made it as fast as I could." As fast as he could, he then explained, turned out to be just in time to see Mr. Boyfriend-of-the-day clog Ryan on the head with the baseball bat. Then kick him in the chest.

"Ouch," Ryan sighed. He had been wondering what the hell he'd been hit with.

"And by the way," Sandy said, looking more serious than Ryan had ever seen him, Oliver era included, "You are strictly forbidden to get anywhere near one of Dawn's boyfriend without either Chris or myself. I don't care if you think you can take them, I don't care that you're an adult and I can't technically order you around anymore, you will call one of us, or there'll be hell to pay."

"Worse than a hairline fracture and a week in the hospital?" Ryan snapped.

Sandy sighed and Ryan lowered his eyes.

He wasn't even mad at Sandy—the man was just an easy, _available_ target for an anger that Ryan didn't know where to direct anymore.

He was mad at Dawn, at her boyfriends, all of them, at himself, for still rushing in, for needing a protection even now, now that he had his life and his family to think about.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay," Sandy replied. He sat on the edge of the bed. "You scared us. We should be used to that, but we're not."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it." Ryan looked between Chris and Sandy. "I'm the one who should be more careful, who should stop getting into these situations."

"But we all know you can't do that." Sandy patted his hand. "We worry, and we can only try to help, but you know there isn't a lot we can do if you decide to go on your own." He smiled mischievously, trying to lighten the mood. "Though I did hear that wife of yours say something about chains and walls."

Ryan chuckled nervously. Theresa was capable of a lot of things, when sufficiently annoyed.

He waited until Chris was gone before asking Sandy, "She left with him, didn't she?"

Sandy looked at him, his face compassionate. "Yes, she did. According to Chris, she left willingly."

Ryan knew that should have reassured him, and in a way it did, but it also hurt that she had chosen to go with the man who, for all she had known then, might just as well have killed Ryan.

It would almost have been easier if she had forced to go with the guy. At least that might have meant that she cared enough to be worried about him.

Sometimes, he wondered why he still bothered hoping for things to get better between them. Then he thought back about his wedding day, about how she had acted then, and decided that this was why—she had good days sometimes, and he still wanted to be part of those.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Dad?"

A small hand shook his arm, jolting him from his sleep.

"Daniel?" Ryan asked, groggily.

It was early in the day, and his visitors wouldn't start arriving until several hours yet.

The boy smiled up at him and climbed on the chair closest to the bed.

That was when Ryan noticed that Theresa wasn't around. He groaned inwardly, hoping she was just talking to the nurses, or to his doctor. "Does your mom know you're here?" Ryan asked.

Daniel's guilty face was answer enough.

Sighing, Ryan picked up the phone and dialed Theresa's number. Her frantic voice when she answered told him that she had noticed Daniel was missing.

"He's here," he said before she could say more than, "Ryan?"

She sighed and whispered, "I'm going to kill him. I told him I'd take him with me tonight."

"I know." Daniel was looking at him, trying to look innocent, and Ryan shook his head at him.

"I'll come get him," Theresa said.

Something in the tone of her voice made Ryan try, "Well, it's Saturday. Since he's here…"

"Oh, of course. Let him win, why don't you?"

There was no real bite in her tone, just fatigue, and he said softly, "Why don't you sleep for a few hours, in the meantime? You're always here, or at work, or taking care of him. You must be tired."

She gave a strangled laugh. "I am. He won't tire you out?"

"I doubt it."

"Okay." It sounded like she was admitting defeat, and Ryan didn't like to hear that tone in his wife's voice, but he couldn't do anything about it right now. Only time—and better judgment calls in the future—could make things better.

They hung up on whispered goodbyes and Ryan watched his son, who was looking around curiously.

"Okay, there, buddy?" he asked.

Daniel faced him, nodding gravely.

"How did you come here?"

"I took the bus." A hint of pride showed on his face as he added, "I looked it up on the Internet. I had to change two times, but I didn't get lost."

"That's great, Daniel. But next time, ask your mom, okay? She was very worried." Knowing how hypocritical it made him, he added, "You can't just go off like that without warning us."

"Do I have to go back now?"

Ryan smiled. "Nah. You can stay here a while."

Daniel nodded and started swinging his legs over the edge of the seat. He looked small in this unfamiliar room, and his voice was low when he asked "What happened?"

"What did your mother tell you?"

"She said you'd been hurt by a bad man and you were going to be fine. She didn't take me earlier because she said you were too tired."

"I was," Ryan said. "But I'm better now, see?"

"Who was the bad man? Is he going to hurt you again?"

Ryan swallowed. "No. He was just someone my mother knew, but he's gone now." _With her, damn it._

"Why did he hurt you?" Daniel insisted.

Ryan didn't see himself explaining to his son that some people were just violent, so he settled for the next best approximation. "He was sick. But I don't want you to worry about it, okay?"

Daniel nodded. "Your mom isn't here?"

Ryan swallowed. "No. She had a few things to take care of."

He was starting to grow tired, fielding all these questions.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"If you need to sleep, that's okay. I can stay here."

Ryan felt his eyes close despite himself. He tried to resist sleep, wary of letting Daniel alone in a hospital, until Sandy's voice said, "Sleep, Ryan. The little one and I are going to have a talk."

He drifted off, reassured to know that Sandy would take care of things.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It'll never stop, will it?" Theresa asked, the night Ryan came home from the hospital.

"I'm sorry." Ryan felt like a damn parrot, repeating apologies over and over again, but he _needed _to say it.

"Don't be sorry," she snapped. "Don't you get how scared I am for you?"

He was scared too—for himself, for Dawn, for his friends and his family. He didn't want to die. Didn't want to put them through any more grief than they had already been through.

But…

"She's my mother."

Theresa shook her head. "She's a bitch who doesn't know how lucky she is to have you."

"I know."

She pulled him close, her arm warm against his waist. "What will it take for it to stop?" she muttered, half to herself.

It wouldn't stop until Dawn was dead.

For all of Ryan's efforts to keep her alive, one day, he would be too late.

One day, she was going to take too much drugs, or be hit too hard, or drink too much, and then…

"I'm sorry," Ryan repeated.

He wished he had something better to say—some explanation of why, even after all these years, he was still torn between two lives, two worlds.

Two families.

He didn't have one.

* * *

TBC 


	6. Chapter Six

**Title** : Mothers and Sons

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary** : Dawn and Ryan, and their twisted relationship. Also, Theresa and Ryan and their slightly less twisted relationship.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN1**. This one was inspired by brandywine421's awesome _breathe out, breathe in._

Many thanks, as always, to the ever awesome joey51 for beta'ing this. I tinkered; all remaining mistakes are mine.

* * *

Chapter Six

"Look, I don't know what the hell you think you can do for me, but I ain't interested, okay?"

The kid scowling at him could have been him, over a decade ago—defiant, angry, glaring at anyone who came within two feet of him.

Terrified.

Lost.

Carefully hiding behind his attitude, because it was the only way he knew how to protect himself.

Social Services had a file ten miles long about this kid—Billy, fifteen, father long gone, mother trying (and failing) to keep a job. Truancy, theft, fights, frequent visits to the hospital due to numerous biking accidents and tumbles down some stairs.

Of course, Ryan knew Billy wasn't interested.

They all said that.

He still gave him the card. "It's a shelter." Billy snorted derisively. "It's held by the church, but several of the people who work there are public defendants or teachers. They allow kids to stay overnight, under certain circumstances."

"Such as running from the cops?" Billy asked, feigning innocence.

Ryan didn't let his tone deter him. "Call them if you need help. If not, your court appointment is in two weeks, and I'd like to see you once before that."

For the first time, the kid looked worried. "Can you… I mean, can you convince the judge…"

"To go easy on you?"

Billy nodded.

"I can plead it down to misdemeanour, yes. But if you take one step over the line again—"

"Look, I do what I have to do to survive, okay?" Billy snapped. "It's not my fault things suck."

Ryan knew that all too well, too. "It's not mine either," he retorted. "You need to stay clean, or the judge won't go easy on you."

Billy nodded, shouldered his backpack, and walked away from Ryan, head down. Ryan watched him as he climbed into a car where he was greeted by a sharp slap on the cheek before it drove off.

Ryan gritted his teeth. For the thousandth time, he wondered what Sandy had seen that day. Had he seen the fear, the anger, the hopelessness? Was that why he had opened his house to Ryan? Had he been worried about Ryan when he saw Dawn yell at him?

Ryan shook himself.

None of that mattered, but Sandy was right. It didn't get any easier.

In fact, it got harder with each passing day to watch these kids go back to abusive parents, and to know that they were stuck in the situation and that there was very little he could do. They'd need to ask for help before their life changed. Most of them wouldn't. And those who did… well, they'd end up in foster care, and it was possible that it wouldn't improve their situation in the least.

Ryan knew all that—probably even better than Sandy, because he had lived through it. And he was just as helpless to change it as Sandy had been.

"You make a difference, kid," Sandy often told him. "I know it's hard to see it sometimes, but you do."

"So do you," Ryan always replied.

Neither of them felt it was good enough.

Sighing, Ryan headed back inside to take care of some more paperwork.

Maybe Billy would call the shelter. That would be something, at least—a first step.

A chance to get help.

Ryan could only hope for the best.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan was about ready to call it a night when the phone rang. He checked the caller ID, frowning upon seeing Father Ellison's number. "Yeah?"

"Ryan? We got one of your clients here." The priest paused for a moment. "He says you gave him our card."

"Brown hair, blue eyes, about fifteen, scared as hell?"

"Yes. He's pretty banged up, but he doesn't want to say who did it to him. He refuses to talk to anyone but you."

Ryan sighed, torn between annoyance at the bad timing (he really wanted to go home, and this wouldn't be something he could solve in a few minutes), and relief that Billy had gone to the shelter. He was sure most of them threw away the card, but the ones who did ask for help usually ended up genuinely wanting to make a better life for themselves. And sometimes, just sometimes, the people at the shelter managed to help them.

Maybe it was a good sign that this one had come?

Maybe this one would be worth a fight, would be able to escape his life?

Every day was a new fight; Sandy had told him so when Ryan had chosen to work as a lawyer.

"I'll be here as soon as I can," he promised.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan stumbled into the Cohens' home at five in the morning. It had taken most of the night to convince Billy to call Social Services—but given the state the kid had been in, and how jumpy he had been when Ryan had first seen him, he didn't see it as a waste of time.

Father Ellison would take care of calling in the morning and would get a hold of Ryan so he could assist in the interview, should the kid want him to be there.

Ryan felt tired to the bone.

Hearing Billy talk had brought back too many memories, none of them cheerful. He was so sick of seeing the effects of violence on these kids, and on himself.

Sandy was getting ready to go surfing when Ryan entered the kitchen. "Ryan?" His smile of welcome was tinged with worry. "Something wrong?"

Ryan shook his head, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Why was he even here? He'd had a bad day, and an even longer night, and he needed to see the Cohens? "Nah. Just…"

Sandy studied him as he trailed off. "Did you even get home last night?"

"No." Ryan sighed and hopped on a stool at the counter. After a beat, Sandy sat next to him, waiting patiently for Ryan to gather his thoughts. "I just…" He gestured to the door. "I really should go home." He had called Theresa to tell her he wouldn't be back for hours, and he had called again after leaving the shelter, but that didn't mean she was going to be okay with this.

Sandy said nothing, waiting for Ryan to make eye-contact before offering, "You know I'm always here if you want to talk, right?"

Ryan nodded. The Cohens' support was one of the few things he had allowed himself to rely on in, well, ever, really. Not that it stopped them from repeating, time and time again, that they would always be there.

"Now is as good a time as any."

"You were going to go surfing," Ryan said, still reluctant to disturb Sandy's plans.

"The ocean will still be here tomorrow. So will my surfboard." Ryan was still hesitating and Sandy added, "You're here, now."

Ryan conceded the point with a shrug. The least he could do was offer Sandy some explanation as to why he had appeared on his doorstep, looking like he was coming off a three-day-bender. So, he started talking, explaining how he had gotten the case and what the kid was like, and what he had looked like when Ryan had seen him later in the night.

Sandy didn't say much—just a few words of encouragement.

"It's hard," he said when Ryan stopped talking.

Yes, it was, in more ways than one.

"You're doing everything you can to help him. And then some, I'm sure."

Ryan shook his head, embarrassed. "I'm doing what's necessary. Nothing more. Sometimes…"

Sometimes, he wished there was more he could do.

"Me too, kid." Sandy moved closer to Ryan. There wasn't anything the man could say to make it better, but the silent show of support helped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that week, just as Ryan was starting to think that he was going to have to pull another all-nighter if he wanted to finish his work, the phone startled him. This time, he didn't recognize the caller.

"I'm looking for Ryan Atwood?" a female voice said hesitantly when he picked up.

He felt his stomach twist. "Yeah, that's me."

"Sir, I'm Doctor Elizabeth Thompson, from the Chino Valley Hospital. I'm sorry to inform you that your mother was brought in earlier today."

Ryan breathed in sharply. "What happened?"

"She OD'd. She's stabilized, and we think she'll fully recover with time, but we need you to come take care of the paperwork. She's in no shape to do it herself."

Meaning she was in withdrawal and too incoherent to do it herself.

Meaning she was still alive, and that was something.

"I'll be right there." He hesitated before asking, "Is there anyone with her right now?"

The woman on the other end of the line hesitated briefly. "No. An anonymous call gave the dispatching the address and said to hurry. She was alone when we found her, and no one has been here to see her yet."

Ryan released the breath he had been holding. At least, there wouldn't be an enraged boyfriend to deal with tonight.

He thanked the doctor and hung up, then immediately called Theresa to tell her not to wait for him. It took him a moment to convince her that no, Dawn's boyfriend wouldn't be there, and that no, he didn't want any of the Cohens with him, and sure, he'd call her as soon as he got news.

Then he proceeded to drive to Chino as fast as he safely could.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He found Dawn sleeping, a heart monitor beeping regularly, an IV stuck in her hand.

He sat down and looked at her, wondering what had driven her to such extremes. She had a family who wanted to support her; why couldn't she accept their help? Was it for the same reasons Ryan so often ignored the Cohens' offers to help—pride, shame, and a misguided sense of independence?

Dawn was as strong-headed as he was.

It didn't mean that Ryan would stop trying to help her, just like the Cohens were still trying to help him.

Theresa didn't understand his relationship with Dawn. Neither did Seth, not really. Kirsten had Hailey as a sister and Caleb as a father, so she probably got why Ryan was doing it. Sandy had a deep sated urge to help others, so he probably understood too.

Understood why, no matter how much it hurt, Ryan kept rushing to Dawn whenever she needed him; why he held her in his arms while she sobbed and promised she'd do better.

Why he never forgot nor forgave what she had done to him, yet still did everything in his power to make sure she was well cared for.

Why he was going to pay for rehab, as many times as necessary, even though he knew she wouldn't stay sober once she was out.

It was exhausting, but the idea of not doing anything at all was downright horrifying.

Shaking himself, he started on the paperwork.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To Ryan's surprise, Dawn didn't protest the order to go to rehab.

He could have sworn she'd go kicking and screaming but obviously, she had been scared enough to accept help this time.

_For how long?_ a little voice nagged him.

He didn't listen to it.

"I want to get to know my grandkid," Dawn said. "I can't do that if I die."

"No, you can't."

It wasn't the first time Dawn was determined to make things better.

But maybe, just maybe, this time it would work. Maybe the idea of spending more time with Daniel would make her more desperate to change? Ryan was torn between wanting to hope, and the cold knowledge that Dawn hadn't managed to hold it together for him and Trey. He didn't think Daniel would be enough of a reason but he couldn't let her see that.

She needed blind faith, otherwise she wouldn't even try.

"I'm sure it'll get better," he said. "If you want it bad enough."

She started to cry, apologizing for causing him so much trouble, asking for forgiveness, and he reached over and hugged her so she could cry on his shoulder.

This was their relationship—always had been, always would be. Dawn, clinging to him and apologizing, and him, burying the hurt and comforting her, and enjoying whatever sober moments she had.

He wasn't a desperate kid craving for affection any longer. He could stand her neediness a little better, he could hope for better days without fearing of seeing his whole world crumble if she failed. He could take what little she was able to give and be content with it.

"I can't promise I'll be able to do that."

"I know." He smiled at her. "I don't want you to. All I want is that you try to get better."

"I can try."

He leaned down to hug her again. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

He closed his eyes and burned the words into his memory.

"I love you too," he said, straightening up.

He left the room on a last smile, and headed straight for his car.

He couldn't help wondering if she'd still be there tomorrow.

He couldn't help wondering if she'd stick with the rehab program this time.

He couldn't help hoping she would.

He couldn't help hoping she'd become a part of his life again.

He couldn't help hoping.

* * *

end 


End file.
